


Guns Don't Kill People, Melodramatic Vulcans Kill People

by mirawonderfulstar



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Spectre Of The Gun Episode Tag (kind of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 11:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12530260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirawonderfulstar/pseuds/mirawonderfulstar
Summary: Every time I watch Spectre Of The Gun I can't help but think how in-character it would be, actually, for Spock's solution to the problem of "prove to everyone that bullets can't kill us" to be to shoot himself and wait for them all to realize nothing happened. This is a super short self-indulgent fic based on that.





	Guns Don't Kill People, Melodramatic Vulcans Kill People

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing, not even the dialogue at the beginning which I lifted from the ep.

“If we do not allow ourselves to believe the bullets are real they cannot kill us!” Jim exclaimed.

“Exactly. I know the bullets are unreal, therefore they cannot harm me.” Spock said with a self-satisfied little shake of the head.

“We must all be as certain as you are, Mr Spock, if we’re to save our lives.” Jim said, evidently accepting Spock’s analysis of the situation without hesitation.

“Precisely.” Spock said. McCoy had had enough.

“That’s not possible. There would always be some doubt.” He looked from Spock to Jim, silently pleading for the captain to see his side.

Spock’s expression didn’t change. “The smallest doubt would be enough to kill you.” 

“Yes.” Jim continued, just as calmly as before. “We’ll have to find some way of removing all doubt, and quickly.”

McCoy’s hands clenched into fists. “Now hold on just a moment! What are you proposing here?”

Spock gave him a look McCoy could only describe as “withering”. “Since I am the one who is certain, it is logical that I would help you all arrive at the same certainty.” McCoy could see his hand rest lightly on the old-fashioned gun on his hip and felt his mouth go very dry.

“Don’t be a fool, Spock. Now’s not the moment for your Vulcan theatrics.” McCoy’s eyes remained fixated on the gun. “Surely a mind meld-“

From behind the remaining members of the landing party came the sounds of their executioners entering the arena. McCoy saw Jim whip around to face them as they drew their guns, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Spock, who was pulling his own gun out of its holster.

“We haven’t the time, doctor.” Spock said, and in one swift motion he lifted the weapon to his head and pulled the trigger.

“SPOCK!” McCoy shouted, feeling his voice break in horror as he reached out a hand, too late, to stop him. Scotty had yelled as well, and Jim, who had turned away from their approaching enemies at the sound of Spock’s voice.

McCoy felt very cold as he scrambled forward towards Spock, his outstretched hand reaching for his shoulder, pulling him close and wrapping an arm around his waist to prevent him from collapsing to the ground. Only it didn’t appear that Spock was falling, and there was no characteristic green blood on his temple. No entry wound.

For a heartbeat, McCoy held him all the same, feeling the sturdy warmth of the man and trying to force his own breathing to steady out. The hand on Spock’s shoulder fluttered up his neck and over his temple, feeling for the bullet that evidently wasn’t present. There was nothing there. McCoy let go of him slowly, taking a deep breath.

Then Jim came forward with a moan and shook Spock vigorously. “Why would you do that?”

“Captain, there was no alternative. It was necessary to impress upon you all immediately that the bullets would do no harm.”

“Oh yeah?” Came a voice from the group of men behind them. Doc Holliday strode forward, squared his shoulders, and raised his gun. “We’ll see about that.”

He began firing, and his comrades did the same, but every bullet passed through them and splintered the wood of the corral behind them. Spock’s plan had worked.

 

Later, after they’d made it back to the ship and discovered Chekov was alive and well and Jim had established peaceful relations with the natives and reported back to Starfleet, after McCoy had gotten back to sickbay and seen the last of the day’s appointments and was sitting at his desk with a measure of brandy trying to write his report on the away mission, Spock walked through the door and came to hover next to him. McCoy had made up his mind to let Spock talk first, but after nearly two minutes of waiting for the Vulcan to open his mouth, McCoy threw down his stylus and glared upward.

“Something I can do for you, Mr Spock?”

Spock looked at him with a measure of discomfort, and McCoy lost his patience. He stood up and bustled around to his cabinet to pull out another glass, which he filled with brandy and all but slammed down on the desk in front of Spock. Some of it sloshed out and began pooling its way towards his padd.

“Drink with me, then, if you just came here to stand around.”  

Spock took the glass and swirled the liquid gently in front of him, his lips pressed tight together. McCoy rolled his eyes and grabbed a rag to wipe up the brandy before it could get to his reports, taking a seat again and resuming writing.

He’d almost forgotten Spock was there when he spoke.

“Doctor, I find myself troubled by what you experienced on the planet.”

McCoy’s gut flipped as his mind’s eye replayed the view of Spock lifting a gun to his own temple. “I didn’t experience anything worse than any of the rest of you.” McCoy grumbled, hunching over his padd and willing Spock to go away.

“Perhaps not.” Spock said. McCoy could hear him swallow a mouthful of brandy above him and the clink as he set the glass down again. “But you were greatly disturbed by my actions and I believe I owe it to you to remedy that.”

McCoy clenched his fist around the stylus. “We were all disturbed! What if you’d been wrong? You could have killed yourself.”

“I was not wrong.”

“Dammit, Spock!” McCoy slammed his palms against the desk as he rose to face Spock. “You might have been, and where would that have left us? Where would that have left _Jim_?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I fail to see how the captain figures into this.”

“Of course you do, you machine. _Emotionally._ That’s how Jim figures into this. If you’d killed yourself down there, _really_ killed yourself, after he’d trusted you to save us all… he’d never forgive himself. It’d ruin him.”

“Ah.” Spock said, taking a tiny step closer to McCoy. “And what would it have done to you, doctor?” His voice had lowered significantly, barely above a whisper.

“What do you think?” McCoy hissed, grabbing his arms.

Spock seemed to consider him for a moment before leaning in to kiss him, more expertly than McCoy would have guessed. McCoy’s arms wrapped around him, holding him close for the second time that day, and Spock returned the embrace. Spock deepened the kiss as he backed McCoy against his desk, and McCoy flushed with embarrassment from the unintentional moan he let out.

“I felt your fear.” Spock whispered when he broke the kiss. “I felt your pain when you touched me. Your need to ensure my wellbeing.”

“My…?” McCoy said, a little breathless. Spock brushed his fingertips over McCoy’s temple, and he understood. Spock had picked up something of McCoy’s feelings when McCoy had touched his head to check there really was no wound.

“You have a most compassionate heart, doctor. I would not wish to break it.” Spock murmured against his cheek, and McCoy’s hands clenched in the fabric of Spock’s uniform as his lips moved along his jaw and onto his neck. McCoy felt his legs go weak as Spock kissed below his ear, and he might have collapsed backwards against the desk if Spock hadn’t caught him and pulled his body flush against him.  

“Spock…” McCoy said after another moment of this, “Spock, stop.”

McCoy felt Spock stiffen against him, and not in the way McCoy was rapidly stiffening. He let go of McCoy and took a step back.

“My apologies, doctor.” His voice was back to normal, cool, reserved. “I was under the impression that humans found kissing of this nature to be pleasurable, even romantic.”

McCoy shook his head vigorously. “They- I do. But we’re standing in the middle of sickbay and… well…” McCoy bobbed on the balls of his feet and shot Spock a tentative grin. “I’d rather we go somewhere a little more private if you’re going to get romantic with me.”

Spock’s posture relaxed. “Ah, I understand. Perhaps my quarters?”


End file.
